


A Moment To Breathe

by SpitfireRose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chocobros - Freeform, Game Spoilers, Polyship Roadtrip, The moment that canon forgot, What we all needed and deserved, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: Prompto wants to believe that this is real after the hell he endured. The guys are right here for him.





	A Moment To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> First FFXV writing/drabble inspired by the wonderful Kaciart, that can be found here http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/162290878678

The blond awakes, scream torn from his lips as he jolts into high alert, nearly forgetting to breathe as he chokes while supporting himself on weak elbows, soon heavily leaning forward. It’s difficult to see anything with the blur of tears obscuring his vision, memories of the nightmare like shattered glass in his fractured soul. Prompto curls in on himself, hands clenching at the crisp sheets as he gasps for the bitter cold air stinging his burning lungs.

One gulp. Two. His heart races like that of a bullet train, eyes screwed shut for the inevitable impact and the sharp phantom pain that engulfs his entire trembling body. It takes a moment for him to acknowledge that he’s been able to move at all, albeit tucked in much like a cowering, wounded animal awaiting to be struck. Though the stiff, regulated dorm bed had felt like bliss after only Gods knew how many hours–days, perhaps–of being tortuously restrained, it had done Prompto no favors in easing the strain of aching joints.

“…mpto..?” A voice cuts through the sharp static of white noise, and the gunner desperately clings to it, making an effort to calm his staggered breaths. It takes another moment, possibly three, as the voice is joined with another much deeper. They’re asking him something, able to at least pick up his name in the soft tones. He wants to weep in relief at just that, just the gentleness of someone familiar speaking to him after a hell of nothing but piercing truths and crushing revelations. Apologies are heavy on his tongue, thinking it pathetic that he can’t make out what they want from him even as they calmly repeat it to his pleas that he doesn’t understand. A quieter voice somehow speaks over the pair despite sounding farther away, accent exhausted yet firm as Prompto obeys the order to keep on breathing, a mantra of counting that he can vaguely recall from what feels like another lifetime.

Breathing in, holding for five seconds, and breathing out. The three are like one in their steady chant for him to breathe, and something about that gives him a sense of serenity however brief. The voices are clearer.

“Hey, Prompto, you with us?” He trusts himself to open his eyes, drowning ocean blue finding haven in a midnight sky of constellations. The blond whispers a name to the face that’s a respectable few feet away, and earns a shy smile from Noctis as he then nods. “You gonna be alright if Gladio and I come closer?”

The gunner looks over his shoulder on instinct, the swordsman still standing sentry like he had sworn to the blond before sleep had claimed him. Something within him starves for contact, to be swaddled in the soothing comfort he had once known and cherished, yet frightened for rejection despite constant assurances that none would ever come. Best to start with small steps, like earlier when Ignis had advised he slow down from practically inhaling the energy bars and water offered to him, snatched greedily from the blind man’s hands.

“ _Pl–Please_.” Prompto knows he sounds as needy as he feels, unaware up until at this very moment at just how much he’s been shaking as his teeth chatter against his bottom lip. Has it always been so suffocating in here? He bites into the flesh to still himself from flinching as the two inch forward, ready to move back at the first sign of his discomfort. Ignis makes no move from the opposite cot as Gladio takes the space up by Prompto’s pillow, Noctis crouching low before him with eyes still gazing into his. Like a lifeguard searching the seas in determined hopes to assist in any way, yet unsure of how to proceed without hurting him anymore than he has.

Prompto didn’t blame him, but Noctis wishes he would. It’d be easier to accept than his unwavering devotion and loyalty.

“ _I–I’m cold_.” He manages to say next, and he swears he sees furious flurries of flakes behind his tearing vision. It’s so much more than the blizzard that rages outside the Keep.

“We’re here for you, Prompto.” Gladio speaks, or maybe it’s all of them he can’t tell, as a strong, warm hand soon rests between his shuddering shoulder blades. Noctis’s lips are moving before his eyes, speaking words of comfort he can’t hear but knows by the heartbreaking sincerity of Noctis’s expression. Prompto himself must be rambling before the Prince gives in and places a hand on his left shoulder, an anchoring squeeze helping keep him from drifting away into endless waters.

“ _It–It’s so hard to breathe_.” Maybe it’s due to his own hand having wandered up around his neck, unsure of when that had happened. More words tumble out, unrestrained as he holds nothing back and takes unfocused interest in the wrinkled mess of covers, seeing beyond the stark white. Though they’ve got bandages wrapped around the worst of his injuries, he can still envision the permanent brand on pale skin. “I’m  _real_ , right? You’re all  _not_ …this _isn’t_ …you guys  _don’t_ …?”

“Prompto, hey. Hey, look at me, buddy.” Noctis sounds so urgent, briefly wondering how long he’s been trying to get his attention. The hands on him feel so grounding, pressure increasing ever so slightly as Noctis adds one to his knee with a gentle squeeze. “You’re real, this is all real, and you’re safe here with us, I promise. You’re not anything they said you are, or will ever be.  _You’re Prompto Argentum_ , more Lucian than anyone, and are so much more than any of us deserve. We love you, Prom, no matter what. Please, please don’t ever think we don’t.”

It turns out he hasn’t run out of tears, nor has the energy to even try to keep them at bay. A look at Noctis, a glance back at Gladio, and even to where Ignis remains seated, unfairly out of reach with silent support yet listening intensely in at every distressed noise. They don’t need to nod to confirm it, but they do anyway.

Prompto rubs beneath his eyes, doesn’t know the point of it as the droplets stream freely down scratched cheeks, salt biting the open cuts. He sniffles, attempting a smile that tries so damn hard to be bright and sunny like when everything was normal. It’s almost passable, were it not for the twitching of his lips to keep from outright sobbing.

“I–I love you guys, too.”


End file.
